


Teenagers

by RubenMcguben



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce is in cahoots with the Valeskas, Corruption AU, Jerome and Jeremiah both love Bruce, M/M, abandoned for now, first fic, the pairings are mostly implied, this is embarrassing, this is shite sorry, yeesh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 20:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17332076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubenMcguben/pseuds/RubenMcguben
Summary: Bruce Wayne is a control freak, he can't give some things up





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RhodeIsland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhodeIsland/gifts).



Bruce feels the cold air running its fingers through his hair as he sticks his upper body out of the open window, putting all of his weight on his hands as he leans against the door. Ever since he can remember, he’s liked feeling the cold ass wind nipping the skin of his cheeks. Always liked when he’d get out of the car and the skin of his face would still ache. Now that he wasn’t a child, he appreciated it even more. 

It’s difficult to breathe and it’s similar to the feeling of someone cutting off your air supply, it makes your heart beat faster and you get light headed. The feeling makes him smile uncontrollably and it always makes him feel alive, like he can accomplish anything. 

Jerome is driving tonight, as dangerous as that seems. Driving like a madman that has the coppers on his trail. Bruce hasn’t checked and maybe they do, but in all honesty he couldn’t care less. He loves the heist missions, they always go great and they help out with the territory space and Bruce loves feeling  _ this. _ Jerome laughing his lungs out, gripping the wheel like his life depends on it and his ringleader suit crinkling each time he moves to look in the back of the vehicle. Loves the feeling of Jeremiah actually having fun and bonding with his brother, smiling that face splitting grin as he counts up their loot and plans for the next time. Even though the gun in his jacket pocket burns a hole in him, he loves it, loves the thrill of it all.

He enjoys working alongside his men, working in their business and the politics of the underworld, it’s _ entertaining.  _ Makes everything he’s ever worked for up until this point seem worth every heartache. As he gets back into his seat properly, the leather of the seat creaks and Jerome takes a moment to look at him; because Bruce Wayne doesn’t willingly give up his opportunity to get blasted in the face and goddamn, Bruce wouldn’t give this shit up for the  _ world _ .

Not even when they almost crash into the side of a warehouse and the radio starts blaring MCR and Jeremiah starts laugh-crying because the music reminds him of Jerome’s emo phase, with said Valeska getting red in the face and threatening to kill him. Specifically saying that, ‘if you don’t shut the fuck up, then I’m gonna turn around in my seat to rip you a new asshole’. 

Bruce wouldn’t give this up, not even when they eventually have to pull over and fill up the gas tank and then Jerome has the  _ brilliant  _ idea of setting the alley on fire and waving his handgun out the window as they speed away. Especially not when they just gained some new territory from Cobblepot for accidentally running over a motherfucker and leaving him dead in the alley way. 

No, Bruce definitely wouldn’t give up  _ this  _ or his boys. Everything that he has now is too precious to lose. That thought makes him smile as he cranks up the A.C. to full blast, to combat the lovesick, queasy feeling in his chest. 

 

 

 


	2. You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us in Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hahah sorry

The Arkham issued cot is so fucking thin that he can feel every individual spring  as he lays back against it, he’d been in this room more times than he cares to remember. His own personal isolation chamber, with cracked concrete walls and shadows on every fucking corner of the room. Glass of the window is so stained and yellowed and greasy that there’s hardly any light at all. He links his fingers together and thinks about how he got here and how great everything _ was _ … until he may or may not have made a shit move or two. 

 

Of course the natural progression of things had to be that Jimbo and his merry band of idiots would rear their nasty asses and ruin the show, but that was shits and giggles compared to when they pinned him down and knocked him silly with the butts of their guns. That was just plain  _ rude.  _ His brow creased as he lifted his gaze to the spider web of cracks in the ceiling. Oh yes, Jimbo would get what he had coming to him, Jerome would make sure of that and he’d make damn sure to put on a show doing it too. Jim Gordon had insulted him on a personal level, struck him down and made a fool of him,  _ in front of his own audience _ and he would pay, surely. 

 

Perhaps not with his life, as badly as Jerome wanted that to be the case. No, that would leave his Little Prince in a bad position, make him look guilty enough and the GCPD and the press had their suspicions already. Plus it would leave him heartbroken over the loss of a father figure and a  _ ‘friend’ _ . No, he couldn’t,  _ wouldn’t  _ do that to his boy billionaire. If all goes according to plan, which most of the time it does, especially when Jeremiah is involved, he’ll be out of this gross hellhole within the next few weeks. 

 

It won’t be  _ that _ bad, considering that he’s created his own little fanbase that he can rat out when he wants  _ and _ at whim and they will always stay loyal. It’s nice and Jerome kinda understands how Bruce must feel commanding other stuffy suits into business deals. He’s gotta sprinkles in good acts too among the shit, keep them wanting more of him, more of his crazed antics and that’s how it’s always been. 

 

That’s where Jeremiah had failed in an area where he’s succeeded. Jeremiah had kept them pinned to the premise that since he was Jerome’s brother he would be similar, but  _ better _ and proceeded to turn them into soldiers. Jerome never did that, he understood that the crazies of Gotham need to be let free and be given full reign of a place, even just for a few hours and that’s what made him powerful. 

 

But nevertheless, he kicks his feet up and puts them on the metal foot rest and  _ thinks.  _ Yes, if he’s lucky he’ll be out of here in no time and then he can pay those sorry fucks a visit, maybe he’ll bring Brucie and Miah with him too, they keep him relatively in check. Miah keeps him in check with rational thinking and the thoughts of pain filled nights and Bruce keeps him in check by the thought of him getting caught. That would spell disaster to Gotham, their own boy billionaire being behind bars would not only fuck up the economy, but put Bruce out of a house and home, leaving him without a family (other than the brothers) and put him in the eyes of the GCPD. The GCPD already had their opinions on Bruce, they liked him and they appreciated his efforts to ‘better’ Gotham, but they had some incriminating evidence, not enough to convict, but enough to make him look bad. Thank God he was still friends with Jim Gordon, as much as that irked Jerome and Jeremiah. 

 

He closes his eyes because the room is dark and he’s alone and his entire body is sore and littered in bruises and goddamn  _ is he tired.  _ He thinks about home as thoughts drift off and get hazy. He always hated sleeping in Arkham, it made him feel vulnerable and unsafe. But, back at home the bed was always warm and he’d wake up in the morning with bedhead and Bruce making fun of how he sounds like a chainsaw in his sleep. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, Jeremiah will humor him long enough for him to talk _ right in his face, _ and he’d get the pleasure of watching his baby brother scream and bitch about his ‘disgusting dragon breath’.

 

He laughs low in his throat and finally drifts. He doesn’t have any bad dreams, but once or twice he’s woken up to the sound of a patient screaming bloody murder. God that was fucking annoying, can’t a man get a decent night’s rest?

________________________________________ 

 

Bruce was so fucking stressed when he had heard the call over the talkie; him and his boys kept a system, they would all sit down and devise a plan, work out the kinks and then actually do it. If there was potential trouble, then they had a tiny walkie talkie on each of their bodies, incase things got real bad. He couldn’t come and be there directly, that was too dangerous for all of them, they were being too reckless. Killing that one man and leaving him in the alley was incriminating enough, when it happened, Bruce was almost bursting with tears and he chewed Jerome out for it when they finally got home. 

 

Bruce was strict about the ‘I’m not killing anyone rule’ and he meant it. It was against his morals, he couldn’t ever kill anyone, after the first time… it fucked him up something awful. He still felt bad about reaping the benefits of someone’s death, but he still loved the feeling of the thrill. 

 

But, nevertheless, he was  strict about them calling him when they sensed trouble. Trust was important and he made them both swear before they all started doing this, that they would call if things ever got  _ too _ bad. (It frustrated him to no end in the beginning that Jeremiah would lie about his situation but they got over that eventually.)

 

The calls that came in were mostly from Jerome, but that was to be expected, as he always got the front man job, the one to initiate first contact and the one to land the first punches. Being the front man always put him into a lot of shit. Most of the time, they were just warnings, in case things got too bad to be on the lookout in case he needed help. When he did need help, he’d usually call somebody in and they’d take care of it, and by somebody he meant Ecco.

 

This time however, everything was going smoothly, in fact, it was noon and Bruce was still in his pajamas. This time,  _ Jeremiah’s  _ voice crackled over the speaker and he sounded  _ stressed.  _ It was one thing for Jerome to call in, but Jeremiah never called in. He was the brains of most of the missions and that was the way it was, he worked behind the scenes and made sure that everything went according to plan. Something must have went wrong, a bomb must have malfunctioned, it could have been  _ anything,  _ but he called. Bruce couldn’t make out the words and that scared him. Not understanding what was happening while he was still at home and powerless to stop it from escalating, _ scared  _ him. 

 

He didn’t even think twice about heading out to help them. If he got caught, his company could die for all he cared because his ‘strong, capable clowns’  _ needed his help.  _ He bolted out of the door and sped to the location where the mission was supposed to be, all the while, taking the back roads and slamming his foot on the gas pedal. Everytime he rounded a corner, there would be the sound of screeching tires and he was pretty sure that he had left skid marks on the concrete. He was sweating and an absolute mess and he was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned paste white and his nails dug into the palms of his hands. When he finally got to the damned place, he slowed down and parked in the shadows, the black paint of the car blending into them. 

 

The entire vicinity was  _ surrounded  _ in cop cars. Drowned in red and blue lights and the blaring of sirens, it all made his head spin with anxiety. 

 

 _What went wrong?_

 

He stalked into the darkest corners and slowly, but surely made his way to a vantage point, all the while thinking of if his dumbass clowns were ok or not. What he saw made him feel disgusted, horrified and guilty all at once. Jerome being pinned down, bashed over the head with guns and almost being stunned with a tazor. Jerome was  _ manhandled  _ by the officers as they wrestled him into the cop car with unnecessary force, it was all very sickening to Bruce. As that was going, on there were underlings that were getting the same treatment.

 

He’d seen it before. Even before they were dating, he had thought that the police could be a touch too violent with their targets. It was so much worse now that’d they’d been committed to each other, but no matter how many times he saw it, it always made his stomach twist up into sickly knots. He had seen it a lot at this point, in fact it was a semi-constant occurrence. He watched as the car that held Jerome sped away to the station while the rest of the GCPD cleaned up after the mess that was made. 

 

It made him feel guilty, he could’ve prevented this, but his dumbass was convinced to stay home. He was mad at himself, at least while he was up there he could see all of the mistakes that happened, just from the wreckage he could see what went wrong.

 

Jerome thought that it would be fitting to mutilate the target they were after while the innocents were terrified by his clown posse. Not a good move, but then again, Jay did like to put on a show for everyone to witness. This time being no different, after he smacked down the target a few good times (Bruce could see the man’s face as the officers helped him out of his rope bindings, (Bruce had to say- yikes) The bomb was a smoke bomb, not meant to harm, but to make it easier for Jay to escape. Something must’ve malfunctioned in the tiny mechanisms  and it never went off, leaving his time window short. Short enough for the cops to come and find him. Someone had to have heard the commotion, or a citizen being terrorized must’ve pleaded for Jim to come. Jim  _ did _ come to the crime scene, shaking his head and wearing his typical grim expression. 

 

One more thing to add to the guilt list. Jim was like a father to him and if he ever found out that he was in cahoots with the Valeska twins... He swallowed back tears as he scanned over the wreckage one last time and made his way back to the car. Thankfully, no one had found out about its location while he was away, that would have incriminated him even more. 

 

The GCPD already had footage of him, but the images were so blurry you couldn’t tell who it was, the press had made headlines announcing the appearance of the ‘mysterious Valeska accomplice’. When he had shown the brothers the headline in the morning paper the next day, Jerome about busted his lungs out laughing so hard and Jeremiah had a wicked smile on his face. It was as funny as it was alarming. Jeremiah had told him that he needed to take a backseat on the missions for a while… 

 

_ Jeremiah!  _

 

Realization hit him in the chest like a ton of bricks, it made him so nervous. He was too caught up in the site of Jerome being put down to stop and think about his  _ other  _ clown. He had  **two** clowns to worry about, he practically ran to the car and high tailed it out of there, perhaps he may have been a little loud with the car door, because he could have sworn that he heard one of the officers mutter something about a noise. While he was speeding away from the crime scene, he took his phone out of his pants pocket. 

 

He couldn’t call Jerome and have an accident, Bullock had told him that the cop cars were fitted with recording devices. In the instances assumed accomplices were put in the same car, they would unknowingly incriminate themselves and be prosecuted. Harvey had even described to him an instance of said device coming in handy, when a pair of sisters unknowingly outed themselves in the murder of their mother. 

 

Putting in the numbers to Jeremiah’s cellphone took some effort on his part, what with not trying to crash into something, but when he finally did, his heart leapt into his throat as it just rang and rang, until a voice picked up through the other side. “Bruce?” Bruce sighed in relief as he slowed down and pulled off in a secluded alley way. Jeremiah sounded out of breath, but he didn’t sound like he was in any pain. “Where are you? Are you in danger? Do I need to-”

 

“No I’m fine, me and Ecco are hiding, everything is fine, we’re unharmed.” 

 

“Where are you right now, do I need to come and get you?” 

 

“We’re hiding in a crawl space in between the floorboards of the basement, we just need to keep quiet and the GCPD won’t find us.”

 

Jeremiah’s words did nothing to help the worry and guilt muddling over in his head. He rubbed at his temples, in the background of the call he could hear the creaking of floorboards and the metal click of guns.

 

“When do you think you two are going to get home? It’s gonna take a while…” Bruce whispered. He obviously didn’t want Jeremiah to get caught calling him, it would be bad on everyone.

 

“I… I don’t know, I can’t say…” Another creak in the background. Bruce slumped in his seat, it would take a long while, hours at the most, he’d most likely be home late in the night. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, the stress of the situation making him upset, hot lava tears pooling behind his eyes. “Alright… ok…” He said, breathless. Everything was going to hell today and it wasn’t even three in the afternoon. 

 

“Just… please come home in one piece, I love you and I don’t want you to end up in Arkham like...” 

 

There was a chuckle on the other end, it was heartening to hear and even though frustrated tears were pooling down his cheeks, he smiled. “I promise, love. I’ll be home soon.” With that the line went dead and there was silence. He lowered the phone and stared at the screen, Jeremiah’s contact photo staring back at him. The car was humming and everything was moving except for him and he didn’t feel well.

 

Swiping at the tears, he began driving home. The ride was a long one, filled with regretful thoughts and angry tears. The phone in his hand never left, even when he had to turn a corner. He didn’t let go of it, even after got back to Wayne Manor and turned on the t.v. to see his clown being sent to Arkham again. Didn’t let go when he had to cook dinner and certainly not when he went up to his cold bedroom for the evening.

 

He hadn’t been there since yesterday and Alfred certainly chewed him out for it, when he was asked why he had been gone for so long, he had said that he was hanging out with Selina and slept at her place. Alfred shot him a disapproving look, Bruce knew that he’d definitely get a talking to later, about responsibility and growing up and ‘ _ you’re not a child anymore Bruce, stop acting like one _ ’. He hated that one particularly, then he’d retort with how ‘ _ Mother and Father wouldn’t be saying those things to me _ ’ and Alfred wouldn’t talk to him the rest of the night. 

 

That’s how things usually went between them. But not tonight though, tonight he was especially thankful that Alfred had decided to drop the subject. 

 

His bedroom was sterile looking, having been snooped through and cleaned by the maids this morning. It wasn’t really his bedroom, his bedroom was always messy in the best way. The sheets untucked and strewn about and almost on the floor in some places.  _ His  _ bedroom was lined with MCR posters, framed 500,000 piece puzzles and design plans on the rest of the available space. Had heather gray walls and two Joker brothers to warm the space. His bedroom at the Manor had none of these things. It was unsettling when he had to warm back up the space, only to return to see that someone had ripped it away. 

 

As he sits down on the navy duet, he finds that it’s cold. Everything is cold because his idiot clowns aren’t…  _ could never  _ be there to help him warm it up. He leans back against the headboard and  _ still  _ didn’t let go of his phone. He waited and waited for a call from Jeremiah. Bruce thought about how the staff at Arkham (and the police) already confiscated Jerome’s phone. That’d be a pain to get back, it got darker and darker outside still, with no reply. He sat there in his bed for the longest time, feeling utterly alone, it wasn’t the first time that something like this happened. 

 

Certainly wouldn’t be the last time either. Feeling numb and angry at himself, he got up to go to his desk, searching in one of the lower compartments for his bottle of whiskey. By the time that his phone died, he was an absolute mess, hair in disarray, tear tracks down his face and half the bottle gone. 

 

He still never got a call from Jeremiah, Bruce just hoped that he had made it home safe. The last thing that he remembers thinking about, is (vaguely) the plan for busting Jerome out of Arkham, and if he needs to prepare a funeral. 

______________________________________

 

Jeremiah has never been in this situation before. Yes, he knew that the bomb could have malfunctioned, so he created a backup plan. As he always did, of course. Bruce entrusted him with taking care of things and making sure that they went according to the plan. That was his job and he wasn’t one to let Gotham’s  _ King  _ down. But he didn’t quite know for certain what was happening, that had never happened before. His engineering job from before made him face the unknown all the time, but at the end of the project, he would have figured it out. 

 

In this situation though, his brain could do only half of the work, while his eyes did the rest. He’d called for Ecco ahead of time, to try and fix the mess that his brother dearest had created, but now he was left in the dark. Literally.

 

He was stuck underneath the warehouse floor boards in the crawlspace, tracking dirt, dust and God knows what else in his pristine suit, waiting for the perfect opportunity to escape. He reasoned that now that he couldn’t see anything, his ears would have to be his eyes. Boy, did they paint a grim picture. There had to be dozens of cops walking around. 

 

He had went down from his perch to check what was going on and walked into a cloud of cops, forcing him into hiding. If there was one thing Jeremiah was sick of, it was hiding. He was done with hiding, he had been hiding all his life… 

 

Officer’s for the GCPD were everywhere above them, by the sounds of it. Trying to remember the floor plans for the warehouse, he shimmied forward, gun in his hand incase things got ugly and he’d have to ‘splatter a few people’. Jerome loved saying those kinds of things. 

 

God, what were they doing to his brother in Arkham? He’d never been himself, never wanted to go either, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Ecco made a noise of disgust behind him as a rat scurried across her boot, he agreed with her, under here was a  _ dump.  _ He crawled across a corner and just as he went to stop, as there was a creak above him, his phone vibrated in his pocket. It was alarming, the officer’s above them might be able to hear the noises, it was an awkward position to be in and he had to stretch an arm behind himself to pluck it from his pocket. The phone screen was so bright that it burned his eyes in the darkness. 

 

Bruce’s phone number was on the screen and it made his chest tighten. “Bruce?” He whispered, Bruce sounded upset. He tried to explain the situation, the creaking above him getting worse and the clicking of Ecco’s gun was loud in the tiny space. He really didn’t want to stop talking to Bruce, but they needed to get a move on if they were ever going to make it out from under the floor, and quite frankly he was more than ready to go back home. The call ended and they were left to the silence again. Crawling through the dirt and the grime was a nauseous job. Awful, really. 

 

Eventually they made it to the side of the warehouse, a metal vent panel being the only exit to the outside. This entire mission was one of the most frustrating things he’s had to deal with in a while. He told Ecco to move back, she did so without question, but not before making fun of him for having to have his way. Sighing, he planted a small bomb to the panel and ignited it. 

 

He kicked up all kinds of grime on his way to get away from the explosion, when it went off the bottoms of their pants were singed lightly and the bottoms of their boots were beginning to melt. For Jeremiah, certainly, there was an intense ringing in his ears. They scrambled away from the madness, guns cocked in their hands as they ran away, taking deserted alley ways. They didn’t stop at all, the GCPD could be hot on their trail after all, being sent to Arkham or Blackgate wasn’t on the plans. 

 

By the time they had made it to a safe place they were covered in grime and sweat and they were out of breath. He was sure that he and Ecco had blisters on their feet from how long they ran. They dipped into his house, back to the disorganized mess that he called home. Ecco took it upon herself to stand guard by the door, while Jeremiah himself took a seat in his beaten up swivel chair. The papers pinned to the wall drifting up slightly with the force he sat down with. Rubbing at his temples, he willed his impending migraine to go away, that was one of the last things he needed right now. He switched on the tiny radio to the latest news, ‘ _ Jerome Valeska had been sent to Arkham Asylum this afternoon, because of a…’  _ Honestly, he just stopped paying attention after that.

 

He was too tired to walk, but being in his disgusting suit was less than ideal. His bones groaned in protest everytime that he moved. Trying his best, he got up and went to the restroom. Before he went, he told Ecco that when he came out, he would stand guard, while she washed up, she took off her mask and smiled at him. He felt compelled to smile back. 

 

He had to examine the damage he took. Usually that was Bruce’s job. Bruce never really cared about himself, that was a major problem, but the moment that they returned from a mission, he checked for injuries and the like. Always fretted over the brothers, making sure that they were ok and taking it upon himself to bandage their battle wounds. 

 

Jeremiah distinctly remembers once that Jerome had gotten a bad cut running up the expanse of his back. Bruce was trying to take care of it for him, but his brother wouldn’t stop squirming and complaining, so his sweetheart had harshly grabbed his brother by the shoulder and leaned up to his ear to whisper,  _ ‘You should stop fucking squirming, I’m trying to be a good boyfriend and take care of you because I know you won’t do it right. Your idea of healthcare is stapling your face back on, you weirdo.’  _

 

Jeremiah really thinks that they both fell in love with him a little bit more that night. He knows Jerome did, because he sat there and kept his mouth shut. He still uses that experience to tease Jerome, he laughs about it still, even when it earns him a punch to the throat.

 

He did the best he could do and then switched into his night clothes. When he came back into the main room, him and Ecco switched places. He yelled after her that she could borrow his clothes if she needed them, and she had the audacity to laugh at him. It made him flush blotchy red in embarrassment. Ecco knew how to push his buttons. 

 

Watching the door was boring, he was sad that Bruce wasn’t there, and they probably couldn’t meet up tomorrow either. Bruce had said that he had a business meeting to attend and both brothers knew that it was important to keep up appearances. Especially in Bruce’s case, he needed to keep up the nice boy act as much as he could. That didn’t stop him from thinking about how much he missed his dark knight, or in fact, he missed his brother too, even though the asshole was annoying as fuck and wouldn’t leave him alone. He missed them.    


At some point he slumped against the door and tried calling Bruce, the multiple times that he called, he didn't receive an answer, his love must have broken into the brandy, or maybe he worried himself sick. Him and Jerome always felt bad when that happened. 

  
  


He must’ve fallen asleep, because Ecco kicked him awake. He grumbled and looked up at her, she was smiling, her hair dripping wet and she had scrapes along her arms. She was wearing one of Bruce’s shirts that he kept over at the house, which made him frown, but he didn’t say anything. Bruce would scold him for being childish… if he were here. But he wasn’t, even when he wasn’t here, he still held authority. He got up, heading to his bedroom and he remembers that they’d said to take shifts, but after his head hit his pillow, he never got woken up. 

 

Ecco was a god send, really. 

 


	3. The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh tearful reunions are nice, I guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so so sorry that i was so late with this and that it's so shitty, the only excuse that i have for this is that i cant write as often as I used to, because I got a new puppy and he's a handful. If any of you were waiting on this, i gotta say, thank you so much and again, me so so sorry

The morning was hell, he woke up with a splitting headache. His vision was so blurry and hazy he couldn’t see anything, not anything in much detail anyway. He’d fallen asleep at his desk, the drool on the wood and the numbness on his cheek telling him all he needed to know. The curtains were open and they were flooding in light, whenever he tried looking over to the windows, fireworks would explode behind his eyes.

 

Groaning, he stood up, stumbling all the way and he barely registered that he almost toppled the bottle of whiskey off the table. With closed eyes, he groped for the string to the curtains, shutting them and dimming the light. When he opened his eyes it still hurt, but not nearly as bad as before. Bruce stood there, squinting his eyes as he tried to remember what he did yesterday. It took him a few minutes, as unfocused as he was, bits and pieces came back to him. Rubbing at his temples, willing the pain to go away and he began cleaning up.

 

Alfred and the others didn’t know about the alcohol he’d stashed away in his room and he’d rather keep it that way. He capped the bottle and lazily stowed it away, he used the sleeve of his flannel to wipe away the spit. Digging his palms into his eyes one last time, he checked his phone. Dead, what did he expect? He plugged it into the charger and made his way downstairs.

 

It was early enough that Alfred hadn’t bothered with waking him up, but late enough for breakfast to begin being cooked. He stumbled into the kitchen, the bright lights hurting his eyes. Dodging the bustling cooks, he made his way to the fridge, he knew it was improper here, but he drank his orange juice straight out of the carton. At Jerome and Jeremiah’s, Bruce was allowed to drink straight from the carton, the brothers didn’t care, it was something they always did, the only time that Bruce insisted that no one do that was when one of them was sick. When he looked up, a cook was staring at him, Bruce was too tired to determine if his expression was one of pity or one of disgust. Didn’t really matter, he supposed.

 

Closing the door to the fridge, he decided that he’d keep the carton for himself, there wasn’t but a glass’s worth left in it anyway. Walking out of the swarm of activity, he planned on going back up to his room and staying there for the rest of the day, but his schedule had other plans. His butler caught him in the stairwell to the next floor. He looked like hell and it showed. “Master Bruce, are you alright?” He was hardly paying attention and he didn’t really appreciate the hand around his arm either.

 

He slightly winced, a pain in his throat rearing its head, “Of course Alfred, why wouldn’t I be?” His voice sounded raw and disgusting, like the times when he was little and he had gotten strep throat. Alfred shot him a worried look, “You look like the devil came to see you, you sound like hell and you’re not even dressed yet.” He was so confused, the coolness of the cardboard was helping a little though. “What do you mean?” He asked

 

Bruce really doesn’t think that he’ll live to see the day that Alfred looks at him more incredulously, “You have a meeting with an executive at Ace Chemicals this evening,  _  that’s   _ what I mean.”   _ Shit  _ , he really forgot. As his caretaker said those words, he brought the carton to his lips and he stared into space.

 

Frozen, he must have looked like a statue, how could he have forgotten? He shoved the carton at Alfred and didn’t turn around or acknowledge his calls, he had a meeting and he had  _  forgotten.  _  God he was fucking everything up, he raced through his shower and  brushing his teeth and making himself look decent. He didn’t have the time to think of anything else. He skipped breakfast, much to the worry and annoyance of his butler. Bruce didn’t deserve Alfred, seeing the stress he put him through.

 

Before they left, he unplugged his phone from the charger, the screen still dark. The car ride went by, he just stared out the window and pretended to pay attention to what was being said to him, he was good at that.

 

The meeting went by in the same way, in fact he had forgotten the name of the executive that he was speaking to, he was actively engaging with him, but he really wasn’t all there mentally. When they finally sat down in the meeting room, where they were supposed to be _  in the first place,  _  he sat in his chair and looked out of the window. It was drizzling outside, making every surface of Gotham slick and shiny. He rested his head on his hand and he drifted. The man’s words were like television static to him, what he really thought about was how Jerome was in Arkham. If Jeremiah was still alive and if he was, what state was he in?

* * *

 

As the meeting ended and he and Alfred departed the chemical plant, he thought about flowers and how hurtful words could be without having to say anything at all.

 

Jeremiah woke up in the morning with burning pain in his feet and trailing down the expanse of his spine. Waking up like this wasn’t  _  abnormal,  _  but wasn’t   _ welcomed   _ either, he especially hated the fact that when he woke up, the bed was empty and cold. His silk pajamas eased the way for him to get out of bed, but that didn’t mean he hadn't groaned with the pain of doing so. He stumbled down the hall and into the bathroom to look in the mirror.

 

Everything about him was an absolute wreck and he hated it. Right now wasn’t the time for making himself look proper. He walked into the main room to see Ecco sleeping on the couch, the blankets that she’d used were halfway to the floor. She had an arm thrown over her eyes and her blonde hair splayed out over her pillow. Jeremiah snorted when he came to the conclusion that she sounded just like Jerome in her sleep. Both of them sounded uncannily like chainsaws.

 

The tile was cool and everything in the tiny kitchen was cool, he really tried getting a proper breakfast, but they hadn’t gone out in a while to get groceries and the shelves were bare. Grumbling he made a pot of coffee, not his most favorite of drinks, but that was all they had in the kitchen. He was standing there for the longest time, just watching the liquid drip into the pot, the noise of it hitting the glass, numbing him up. He didn’t really think about anything, until he jumped from a creaking sound in the living room. Ecco stumbled into the kitchen, looking just as wrecked as he did, they didn’t have to say anything to each other, she always snooped around in their house anyways. She was like family after all, and she was always welcome to anything, Bruce once said that he got so used to Ecco dropping by, that at one point he actually thought that she lived there.

 

Ecco pilfered the fridge, scrounging up something to put in her gut. The cool tile was somewhat comforting but what he really focusing on was anything but comforting. There were thoughts pooling in his head and rotting his skull and everything felt awful, but you couldn’t tell that just by looking at him and he preferred it that way. Jerome and Bruce were on his mind, the more he thought about them, the more numb to it he felt. How long could they be doing this without being caught or worse?

 

“Head up, nerd.” Ecco whispered, voice sounding strained and tired, he must’ve blitzed off, staring into space.

 

She didn’t find anything worth eating, just as he expected. There was a noise from the backroom, his notification sound. He walked briskly down the hall, feeling like he was floating instead of walking. God, what if it was Bruce? He hurried to check his phone only to find it a five percent and the notification that he heard was a spam email from Spotify.  

 

The annoyance he felt was unbelievable, truly.

 

Abandoning his phone, he left to return to the coffee pot, the liquid still scalding when he finally got there. Ecco already made herself at home, like always, she was sitting at the table and gulping down her cup of coffee. Pouring himself a cup, he went to join her, blowing at the steam billowing out the top. There was hardly any noise, it was uncomfortable and the air swarmed with tension. Inside his head there was an ever constant buzz and a little voice whispering to him. He always wanted it to shut up.

 

It felt like forever, there really wasn’t much of a way to pass the time other than to sleep and watch the television, he couldn’t go out after all. There were too many officers outside waiting for him to screw up, waiting for him to make a mistake, just like Jerome.

 

So he sat and waited. One time, while he was just beginning to drift off on the sofa, he could have sworn there was a sound coming from the bedroom, but he was too tired to be sure and check.

* * *

Jerome’s eyes snapped open with a banging noise against the bars of his cell, and an angry officer yelled profanities at him to ‘wake the hell up’. His eye twitched in annoyance, but he sat up regardless, bones creaking in the process. He didn’t want to wake up, he was having a hell of a pleasant of dream. Didn’t that bozo know to let a sleeping dog lie? How disrespectful.

 

Standing up, he wobbled slightly, his legs felt like jello and he moved to the cell door. Putting his hands against the cold and rusted metal of the bars, he heard everyone else start to wake up. Sounds of pain and groans of disgust echoed off the walls and rang in his ears and he couldn’t help but laugh.

 

Yeesh did his voice sound worse for wear, but that was alright, everything would be alright. In this place he could get it easy, in this place he ruled and ran, in this place he had the final say in anything he did and that filled him with an unnecessary pride. Being here was hell, but it wasn’t that bad, if he was entertained (and most of the time he was) then it wasn’t that bad.

 

Even as he was handcuffed to go downstairs in containment to eat, it wasn’t that bad. But he really wished he could go back to sleep. He was tired of course, what man wouldn’t be after being struck down with clubs and guns? But he just really wanted to finish that dream. As he walked down the hall, the yellowed windows were being splattered with rain drops. What a way to set the mood, huh? (That might have been the slightest bit bitter, but it didn't matter, now did it?)

 

Bruce was in that dream, and when Bruce was in his dream, Jeremiah wasn’t that far behind. It was a memory, they were all standing on the tallest building in Gotham, looking out at the territory below and his baby bat was smiling. Brucie was happy to be blasted in the face with chilly night air and Miah and him were looking over the edge, daring each other to-

 

He didn’t even notice that slop was being slapped onto his plate, little drops of whatever diabetes laced food they were serving hitting his hands. All the cafeteria food was  _  disgusting   _ really, he wouldn’t even feed it to any of the   _ circus animals  _  and that was saying something.

 

The cuffs around his wrists dug into his skin and created red marks, seeing them made him smile. The seat was cold and the concrete walls were cold and everything about the asylum was dreadful, but Jerome was smiling. He was having a great time in fact, yes he was doing  _  dandy,   _ wanna know why? Because he was thinking of ways to get the fuck   _ back to sleep  _  and how to get the fuck   _ out of here  _ . Really he didn't think he could wait too long to be busted out anymore. 

* * *

 

 

He was stepping out of the car, the rain being reduced to a slight drizzle, just like the night that his… The concrete made his footsteps echo and the wind chilled his skin. Bruce shivered, the cold bringing out something awful in the back of his mind, it wasn’t often that he didn’t like being cold.

 

He had requested to be dropped off on a side road, knowing that if there was anyone else that knew about the twins’ new bunker that could spell disaster.

 

As he walked, he anxiously glanced at his phone, God he was so stupid. While he had spent last night wallowing in self pity and worry, Jeremiah had attempted to call him,  _ more than once.  _ He called him back, relieved to know that he was in decent enough condition to speak at least, Bruce didn’t even mind when Jeremiah called him out for being a crybaby. (He didn’t even notice that he was sniffling during the conversation).

 

He was glad to know that he was alive, knowing that made him so relieved… until he remembered that Jeremiah could be critically injured and that made him worried all over again. This was the first time that something like this has happened. Halfway through the drive home, back from the meeting, he'd made the decision that he would go to the bunker and check.

 

Blinking streams of water away, he continued down the path, the ground underfoot eventually giving way to thick mud and grass. Bruce would never say it, because it brought back painful memories, but he always hated that damn bunker. It reminded him of different times. When he wasn’t like how he was today, when he didn’t have to lie to everyone he knew. Times when he honestly tried to change Gotham for the better, before he realized that this cesspool of a city might not be able to be saved at all.

 

The bunker reminded him of times when things were better then, but would be hell for him now. How Jerome would be assumed dead and gone and Jeremiah would actually do  _ good  _ and be an asset to Wayne Enterprises to protect the citizens of Gotham and-

 

Bruce hadn’t even noticed his face getting hot or the tears pooling down his cheeks or that he finally reached the front door, he was so lost in thought. Without much effort, he entered the pass-code to the keypad, holding his breath. When it opened and the door alarm went off, there was a drowning silence. It was thick and heavy and the room was dark and Bruce’s throat started tightening up more.

 

He stepped into the bunker, the floor creaking underfoot and he turned to close the door when he saw a figure shoot up from the couch. It was a little startling to say the least, and Bruce’s breath hitched, the room was so dim that he had trouble seeing who it was. But he quickly closed the door, never once taking his eyes off the mystery person.

 

The light that turned on hurt his eyes, he flinched back and his shoulders hit the metal of the door, making a hollow clunking sound. The person that shot up was Ecco, and he sighed out a breath of relief. She had seen better days, it looked like. God, how could he have forgotten that she was there so quickly? Silently he stalked forward as she made a move to nudge Jeremiah awake. Looking at him so peaceful and stress-free always made his heart ache, but this time even more so, as he was scratched up and bruised. He groaned in the back of his throat and scrunched up his face.

 

There were scrapes and bruises along his neck and shoulders and he looked so  _ uncomfortable.  _ Bruce’s vision was blurry and he ached to reach out and touch him, his hands shaking with want, but he couldn’t risk hurting Jeremiah at all. When poison green eyes snapped open to look at him, he froze. He got flashbacks to this morning as he stood there, his hands kept shaking and  _ shaking- _

 

Jeremiah sitting up to hug around his middle was the greatest relief, it was like all the tension and stress seeped out of his body and for the first time since yesterday he could finally breathe. Bruce wasn't really sure why he started crying again, normally he doesn't cry at all, perhaps he gets a little teary eyed but never full on sobbing. But he was, he was sobbing like an absolute  _ crybaby. _ Later, in private when him and Miah were alone, he'd probably get teased about how hard and how much he was grabbing onto his shoulders and back. Bruce remembered a time when they were hesitant to touch at all, when Jerome had to mediate between them. 

 

The only reason Bruce broke away from the hug and stopped his bellyaching was when Ecco made it a point to loudly cough into her fist, the sound was so loud that it echoed off the walls and maybe, just maybe, his cheeks got more red when he finally looked up at her. Jeremiah wasn't impressed at all though, glaring at her when she laughed at them. 

 

"Look at the pair of lovebirds-"

 

"God,  _ shut up-" _

 

Jeremiah's sentence was cut off by more hyena like laughter, his redhead looked ready to strangle the living daylights out of her, the only indication that he was embarrassed though, was the blush that covered his ears. Everything to Bruce felt like a dream, or perhaps he was just in a daze, but he smiled. 

 

It had been a few days, it went simultaneously at a snail's pace and that of a cheetah's, making the hours blur into one another. That's what it felt like to him anyway. Finally having Bruce back in his arms was a relieving experience to say the least, having a warm weight next to him when he went to sleep at night was relieving. The moment that he was able to do so, Bruce checked over his injuries and chastised him for doing such a shit job at mending them.

 

It was familiar and nice to have something common place again. 

 

Ecco had left them alone and she still came by occasionally, whenever she felt like it, in all honestly it had reminded him of Selina. They were disgustingly alike, the only difference to Jeremiah being that Ecco wasn't a cold-hearted bitch. If Bruce could hear his thoughts he would be extremely disappointed, but he really couldn't help it. They all hated each other behind Bruce's back. Him and Jerome against Selina for Bruce's attention. It was incredibly juvenile, but all of them could be pretty petty when it came to important things. Things being Bruce. 

 

There was one particular time that they were all in the room and then Bruce got up to leave, hesitant as ever for all three of them to be alone. When he finally left, suffice to say it was a cat fight. But they knew when to knock it off before Bruce could catch wind. God did they hate her. 

 

Today they had sat down in the bedroom to discuss proper escape plans. They were sitting at the desk, the chairs creaking every time they stretched the tiniest of muscles. His white pencil was scribbling down possible entry routes and drawing maps of the outside, locating any possible cameras that might incriminate Bruce. Speaking of Bruce, his little darling was in his black swivel chair, in one of Jeremiah's over-sized sweaters and cradling a cup of coffee. His own coffee was on the table, he reached over and took a sip grimacing when he found that it was cold.

 

Bruce was looking away from the table, behind him to the tousled bed, sipping his drink. He had his thinking face on, he didn't even know that he had one, but he did, and both him and his twin could confirm it. The bedroom was deathly quiet save for his scribbling. "There's the front gate that we need to get past, we could always make up a cover story, then walk the shadows to get to a position where we have the upper hand." Bruce was looking back at him now, his eyes cold with steely determination. 

 

"We take out the cameras, taking all the necessary precautions in doing so, then use the safest method to break him out. I don't want him, or anyone else for that matter, injured."

 

Ah yes, he remembered the man in the alley, Jerome definitely got an earful from Bruce, it was beneficial, but there were Bruce's laws and Jerome needed to see that. It didn't bother Jeremiah any, he would just continue to be Bruce's example. It was sort of like a game, annoy each other until you get a one up or until Bruce got fed up with them both and slept on the couch. But he hummed in agreement, it was the most logical course of action, there was only one problem though.

 

"Yes, but we don't know exactly when we can break him out, it's not like we have the asylum's schedule." At the very least, he didn't know it. 

 

"We can fix that. I already know some of it actually, from Jerome's previous escapes, but I'll have Selina get our information. She owes me one for Bridgit's little stunt last week." Jeremiah snorted, a small grin already forming and he wasn't even looking at Bruce's face. Bruce had invited Selina to the manor for dinner, and she insisted on bringing Bridgit along for the ride. Not long after they'd arrived, Bruce had turned his back for one second and his entire garden had been mysteriously set ablaze.

 

"When they're walking down the lowest hall to go down to the mess room, maybe we can plant a small bomb on the wall and-"

 

"I thought that was what we were talking about the entire time." Wasn't this whole conversation leading up to bombs?

 

Bruce snorted, nodding his approval. Jeremiah leaned over and placed his forehead against his darling's. When him and Jerome were little, they would do that, to comfort each other when they couldn't get it from anyone else, when Bruce came along it just became custom to do it to him also. Little parts of Jeremiah wishes that he didn't have to share such a thing at all, wishes that he didn't have to share Bruce. But Bruce leans in and puts pressure against his nose awkwardly and forces those thoughts out of his head, his little king wouldn't like them. Jeremiah doesn't want to poison his thoughts with his own. 

 

"Don't make it with acid." Bruce whispered while combing his fingers through tousled green hair. He remembered the only reason he died it green was because he refused to look like Jerome anymore. He wanted to be completely different from Jerome or not exist at all, it was surprising however, when Bruce said he liked his hair the way it was. Jeremiah was really frustrated, but that was a while ago and Bruce got used to it. Now he thought it suited his personality, but he still liked it its natural color. Sometimes he wished he could go into Bruce's mind and tinker with the fine wires that he had. 

 

"Whatever you'd like, I'll make it however you want me to." Stroking his cheeks was his favorite past time and this time was no exception. The laugh he received in response made his heart flutter. That was a sound only he was permitted to hear and however childish it was, it made him downright giddy, Bruce's laughter made him grin hard enough to hurt.

 

His king made him inexplicably happy, even made Jerome happy too. They'd be seeing Jerome soon, if everything went according to plan, and it  _ almost _ , certainly did. 

* * *

 

 

God what was taking them so long? He was bored dammit and he did stupid things when he was bored. He was throwing this tiny rubber ball he'd found on the floor against the wall and catching it when it came back to him. His jumpsuit was tight around his shoulders and it was uncomfortable and itchy and he really  _ really  _ wanted to go back to the bunker and get back into his pajamas. He wanted to go home and make fun of movies with Miah and Brucie and to just be his stupid self in peace. Can't a man get some peace? Really it shouldn't be that hard, it was a God given right after all.

 

He sighed loudly, making the most possible noise in doing so, trying to get a noise of discontent from the people around him, but there wasn't much, not even a banging noise from the concrete wall next to his bed. It was depressing in here, and  _ really fucking boring.  _ H.e flopped over onto his belly, laying his cheek flat against the springy mattress. Letting the bouncy ball fall to the ground, he dug around under the mattress. He'd stuff something into the soft bedding, if he remembered correctly, the last time he'd been here he hadn't exactly been in the best state of mind. 

 

Fingers brushed against the cool and wrinkled plastic, there they were. He pulled them out and examined them. They'd seen better days but they were in decent enough condition to look at. Bruce had gotten a Polaroid camera for his birthday one year and had insisted on trying to use up all of the spare film he had. Batsy had taken so many pictures of all of them and Jerome had kept them in his pocket, had taken them into the asylum to keep him company when he was bored. 

 

This one in particular had all of them together, them sitting together on the top of a building, the background dark, it might have been at night, Jerome can't remember. But Jerome's face takes up the brunt of the picture, well half of it anyway, and damn did the flash make his eyes look weird. It reminds him of the first time we smoked weed and his pupils got so dilated that his vision got blurry. Ew, his eyes looked like puke green, the nastiest shade of green. Bruce and Miah are in the background, the white of his skin and Bruce's teeth blinding in the picture because the flash was on. They were looking at the camera, smiling. Bruce giving the lens his billionaire brat smile and Miah having his creepy ass grin.

 

The other photo is one of Bruce playing the piano and Jerome is next to him with his stupid plastic harmonica he's had since he was a child. He was just trying to ruin Bruce's piano lesson but then he actually got into it like a weirdo and they ended up doing a duet of Patient is the Night because Jeremiah loves that cartoon. He only ever watches them in private, but he likes Over the Garden Wall. Jeremiah took the picture when Bruce wasn't looking...

 

He smiles a soft smile, he can't wait to get home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try and update more frequently, also if you even get to this part, can you tell me if the formatting is weird? i copy and paste from google docs ope

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry that it's shite, this is my first fic, please don't bully me


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